


Bad Judgments

by rosethorns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consensual, F/M, Horny Teenagers, Infidelity, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosethorns/pseuds/rosethorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is usually level-headed. The operative word being 'usually.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Awakening

* * *

 

 

The first time it happened, Hermione was in a double History of Magic class, fighting to keep her eyes open. For the past five minutes, Professor Binns has been on an impossibly long tangent about student retention in the Founding years of Hogwarts, and despite her pretensions to loving all knowledge, some classes were plain old sleeping potions. Like this one.

She shifted in her chair. Two seats away, to her right, Harry had his fists clenched and his jaw set, trying not to yawn. Ron has been in dream land since he sat down.

Hermione crossed her legs. Maybe it was the sheer monotony of the class, but for the first time she learned how pleasant her thighs feel resting one atop another. The part where her legs meet felt particularly good. It wasn't the first time she was aware of herself, down there; she'd figured things out a couple of years ago when she was thirteen. During her brief dalliance with Viktor Krum, she also discovered more about her anatomy, a lesson the Bulgarian was very happy to assist her with.

Hermione swung her leg slightly; as she did, the cloth of her knickers rubbed against her. She inhaled and brushed her legs together, slowly, lest people figure out what she was doing. Professor Binns droned on, the class snored in response, and she felt many tiny thrills at how she was behaving at the moment. If she closed her eyes; people will think she's sleeping. She could do this forever.

Someone smirked behind her. Startled, she swung to see who it was, and found Draco Malfoy staring back, his lip curled up in a sneer. A wave of nausea washed over her. He definitely knew what she was doing, if he was looking at her like that. She lifted her eyebrows, as if to ask,  _What do you want?_ There was contempt in those gray eyes. But also, something darker. He stood up and walked out the door. Hermione's breathing grew shallow. All around her was business as usual, and she raised her hand.

"Er. Yes, Miss Grant?"

"Going to the loo, professor," she whispered.

He nodded at her vaguely, as if trying to remember what a loo was and why anyone would need to visit it. Hermione practically sprinted out of the classroom and slipped onto the hallway. Draco was nowhere to be found, and she found it harder to breathe. Maybe she misread him? She decided to go to the bathroom anyway.

As she passed a door left ajar, a hand clamped around her mouth and another dragged her in the room. She found herself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, whose eyes were still that much darker. She leaned against the door, which he locked behind her with a _click_.

 

* * *

 

 

"You're a perverted little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, placing his mouth near her ear. Just earlier today he cost Harry another detention. She shouldn't be feeling like she wanted him to keep tickling her neck with his breath. "Rubbing down in class. Tsk, tsk, not like you at all, Granger."

"Aren't you afraid to be so near a Mudblood, Malfoy?" she whispered, her breathing the farthest thing from steady at this point. He smiled and ran his eyes down her body. She knew he couldn't see much--her robes covered most of her--but seeing him look at her like he was peeling her clothes off made her go damp. She wanted him to actually do it.

"Do it," she said. Draco made a sound between a groan and a snarl, pulled her by the shoulders and crashed his lips on hers. She hadn't expected flower petals, but she didn't really think he would be this forceful--he was pinning her against the door, and the wooden carvings were poking against the back of her head. Instead of returning his force, she sighed and let him in. Let him pry her teeth apart and sweep his tongue against hers, let him suck, nibble, lick, all while furiously grinding against her. She opened her eyes--through the haze, she saw him, eyes closed, face contorted in fear, anger, or maybe both. Something clicked in her mind. She pulled away from him and took her wand out, which startled Draco. She turned to face the door.

"Muffliato, she said, pointing her wand at the door.

" _Now_ you can start," she said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bravado. It was mostly bravado. She hoped he'd not notice it was her first time.

She was on one of the desks, legs dangling from the edge, feet wide apart. They'd removed each other's clothes moments ago, a haphazard affair where socks and ties and robes flew around. Her 'p' badge fell to the floor. his badges (prefect, Inquisitorial) were similarly discarded. And then, he instructed her to sit on a desk.

"Spread for me, Granger," he said, his voice hoarse. He sucked a breath in as she did, the humid air touching her down there. He stepped forward so he was in front of her. She gasped as he reached down and flicked her lips softly. "That's fucking wet, Mudblood. You want me that much?"

"You're one to talk," she said, pointing at his stiff manhood. He grinned and dipped his head to her chest. One nipple was sucked, another was rolled between fingers, and Hermione's eyes fluttered shut. Definitely not his first time. She briefly rued the fact that her breasts were not nearly as big as she would have them, until he murmured his approval of them. He alternately clamped his teeth on and licked the rosy tips. They pebbled and turned dark pink.

Draco kissed his way down her torso, stopping in front of her sex. His breath felt warm against it, and she squirmed, waiting for the feel of lips or tongue on her. When he swirled his tongue over her clit, she was lost. He lapped her up, hands roaming her thighs as he did, massaging in circles. She rocked her hips against his face, and he groaned. She had to brace against the desk to keep herself from falling. When he quickened his pace, her legs rose to wrap around him. Her gasps and moans were tumbling out faster, faster, which only seemed to encourage him. When she peaked, she cried out, her eyes filling up with tears.

When she came back to her senses, she realized he was on his knees. He was furiously rubbing himself, and she was overcome with an odd sense of affection. She clambered off the desk and approached him, but he swatted her hand away. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't hurt.

"Don't," he groaned. "Don't."

"I'll let you finish up then," she said, turning away. But his next words almost sent her over the edge once more.

"Don't touch me. But please, let me look at your eyes while I come."

 

 

* * *

 


	2. A Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is usually level-headed. The operative word being 'usually.'

 

* * *

 

 Hermione's mouth hovered above the tip of his cock, her breath hot against his skin. She was aware of the way her forearms dug into the bed, of the cold air against her bare back. Of the elaborate wood headboard in front of her. Of the boy, and his stormy eyes. Why was she here, really? He seemed to notice her hesitation.

"Something wrong? Apart from the usual, I mean," Draco said, his voice strained. She smiled. This was as tender as he got. Apart from what they did with their bodies, they could not--would not--show affection to each other. As in any star-crossed affair, it could prove deadly to either reputation. Or just deadly, as was the case with them.

"None of your business," she muttered, closing her mouth over him. She dragged her lips along his length, and he shivered. He puzzled her. For all his snide sarcasm, he was showing more concern these days, compared to when they started out. But she didn't know why she was here, at the Malfoy Manor, in bed with a boy who has done so much to hurt her.

He sent her an owl the morning after Dumbledore's funeral.  _Please. You know where to find me._  was all it said. After the ceremony, she left Ron, Harry, and Ginny to go to him. He looked tired, defeated, not at all how Death Eaters have been in her experience. They did nothing for a few seconds; they just stared at each other, him miserable, her uncertain. And then he just crumpled up and sobbed against her. She felt a jolt of emotion she didn't usually associate with him. Struggling against what her mind told her to do, she held him, brushing his hair out of his face, kissing his forehead. The worst part of it was that she could not tell anyone how horrible she knew he felt.

After that, they went back to trading insults while having it off with each other.

 

* * *

  

She licked the underside of his shaft. Slowly, she brought her tongue up, flicked at the tip, and started at the base again. He made a strangled noise.

"Merlin, somebody did their homework," he said, grabbing fistfuls of bed sheet. She smiled against him and swirled her tongue over his skin. He started rocking himself against her, matching her rhythm, when she stopped a second time that night. He groaned, rolling to his side so he can sit up.

"Go home, Granger. Stop wasting both our time."

She must have looked hurt, because he did a double take and scowled. "Don't tell me that face is none of my business," he said. She sighed. They had a policy, and she was sure he'd leave it alone when she mentioned it--if it's about The War, it's off limits. But she desperately needed someone to know. And she needed him, needed to feel him touch her.

"My parents are in danger because of the Death Eaters," she said. "And they have nothing to do with this mess."

His head was lowered, so she couldn't see his face. All she saw was the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, and his blond hair falling over his eyes. When he looked up at her, she couldn't read his expression. "You can modify their memories," he said. "Make them forget you, have them move somewhere far from here. I have the spell in a book here, let me find it."

"Are you--helping me? Why?" He rolled his eyes.

 "Call me sentimental," he said. She laughed.

Hermione leaned in to brush her lips over his. And her heart did a little flip when he kissed back, gentle as he could. She pushed him to the bed and resumed what she started, enjoying the rush of power she felt at his every whimper. Draco frantically pressed his hips against her, over and over, until he shuddered. Her mouth filled with his seed, and he pulled out of her. Hermione climbed off his bed and went to the bathroom to clean up. She watched his come swirl down the sink with her spit and running water, and ignored the tugging feeling at the pit of her stomach. It told her that this could not possibly bring her any good in the long term.

She'll take her chances, she thought. It's been delicious so far.


	3. A Fork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is usually level-headed. The operative word being 'usually.'

* * *

 

 

“That’s one thing off your fetish list, Draco—outdoors.”

“Don’t make it sound all mine. You wanted it too.”

She kissed him, grateful to be holding him right now. So much has happened, she didn’t even want to think of all of it.

It was half past six in the morning, and only Fleur was up back at the cottage. Hermione told her that she would go for a walk, and won’t be back until the boys had woken up. And then she came to look for him. They were in a deserted cove with boulders of black rock stuck in the fine sand. She doubted anyone would be taking a stroll in these parts, but it thrilled Hermione immensely, that her two lives were so very close at the moment.

“Want to tell me what you’re distracted with?” he said while unbuttoning her top.

“The fact that I’m having sex with someone who has tried to kill me. Several times.” He paused at her bra and looked up to meet her eyes.

“It pains me to see you hurt,” he said, in quite possibly the gentlest way a boy has ever spoken to her. It made her want to cry. Just days ago, she was a prisoner at his manor. Just days ago—

_“Crucio,” Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice said in her mind, the vowels elongated in pleasure. Hermione felt the white-hot pain of knives cutting her every which way. She felt tears slip down her face, but she wasn’t sure if they really were tears or just more knives tearing into her._

“Your family doesn’t seem to share your sentiments. I almost died in there.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop it, or we’ll all die. If I could take your place, I would have.”

She didn’t like where this conversation was going, so instead, she smirked and peeled her bra off. She heard him inhale sharply, and she grinned, cupping her breasts.

“You’re just saying that because I’m a good lay.”

“Damn right,” he said, finding her lips.

He tugged at her bottoms, pulling them down as his tongue slid against hers. She let her hands wander south, to the bulge in his trousers, pressing at it mildly. Soon enough, she was on her knees, her mouth wrapped around his penis. He was pushing in and out of her, as she lapped at him. She knew where he wanted to be licked, and bitten, and sucked—it was like being at home, and his groans of approval encouraged her more.

“Merlin. I’ll endure Tottenham all over again for you,” he sighed. She slowed down.

“What do you mean, endure Tottenham?”

“Well, when you and your friends slipped through the Death Eaters at Tottenham, I took the blame. Don’t worry, though, it’s all properly sorted out now.” He smiled tightly, which filled her with dread.

She wished fervently that it was all, indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re overthinking again,” he murmured between kisses. She smiled.

“It’s what I do, remember?”

Draco made an approving sound, his lips moving against her skin. She shivered.

How could he, with just that, send tremors to her toes? She had no chance to dwell on the matter because he moved up, pulling her to a sitting position, and kissing her neck. He was roaming his hands over her breasts, at everything but her nipples, which made her squirm. He sensed her discomfort and he smiled.

“Stop teasing me,” she groaned.

“Stop sounding so turned on, then,” he countered.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

She straddled his hips and locked her arms around his neck. She stared at his eyes, which turned from teasing to guarded. “You and I both can’t.”

He closed his eyes and grunted, thrusting himself in her. It felt right, to feel him buried deep in her, to be meeting his hips with hers, to moan his name into his ear, over and over. And she knew he was not unaffected—he was crying out like she was, and grasping her waist like it could save her. She closed her eyes like he did, and a burst of lights flashed behind her eyelids. She gasped and dug her nails into his skin, shuddering as he did, the million lights coming down to rest on her, electric.

She clung to him through the aftershocks, and they lay like that for a while, limbs entwined. He was absentmindedly brushing her temple with tiny kisses, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“Granger?” he said, after a while.

“Mmm?”

“If Potter defeats the Dark Lord—”

“You mean when.” He rolled his eyes.

“ _When_ Potter defeats the Dark Lord...”

“Yes?” She said. He took a deep breath.

“Will you marry me?”

Well, then. That definitely wasn’t what she had in mind.


	4. A Trial

It was half past two. Hermione doubted he wanted to see her, but then, he really had no choice. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Should not have worn the south sea pearls today, she thought. He'd know that they are real. 

If things did not go well, he would corner her, and make a backhanded compliment. It will be something along the lines of her warming up to her post quite well, already looking the part of a Deputy Head, being an upstart. And then, he'd hopefully cop a feel or something.

 

Merlin, she was already fantasizing about Draco Malfoy, and she hadn't even gone to the courtroom yet.

 

"All right, ma'am?" Amanda Kemp, her assistant, poked her head in Hermione's office. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, Amanda, thank you. I will be out in a minute."

"Very well, ma'am."

 

The door closed, and Hermione shrugged on the red robes she wears for this type of hearing. She took a deep breath and exited her office, walking through several hallways before reaching a door emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest.

She entered the office of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, nodded curtly at the assortment of employees as she made her way to the far end. She entered a half-filled trial room.

 

"Morning, Bushwick," she said, nodding at a wizard in blue seated beside her chair. Bushwick grunted back; an ancient, wrinkled old man, he'd been on his post forever. To her right, the Hufflepuff governor was snoring gently. The Slytherin governor, Theo Nott, was supposedly in a meeting at his department. Hermione suspected, though, that he was tutoring Draco and son on how to deal with the board.

His son. Her stomach churned at the thought. She'd heard little about the Malfoy boy, just general distaste for him from her daughter's letters. Her own son, though, seemed rather neutral.

The rest of the board came in over the next few minutes. At last, Jim Pollard, their chairman, entered. He was followed after a couple of minutes by the Malfoys and Nott.

 

"Disciplinary hearing of the twentieth of August, into offences committed under the Decree for Protection Against Restricted Magic by Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, resident at Malfoy Manor, West Avebury, Wiltshire. Interrogators: James Pollard, Chairman, Hogwarts Board of Governors; Hermione Weasley, Theodore Nott, Adelaide Worthing, and Clement Bushwick, House Governors."

 

* * *

 

 

Adelaide faced Scorpius after the preliminaries, starting the proceedings. As she read from the Hogwarts Charter of Rights, Hermione tried not to stare at Draco. This was quite tricky, as she was seated right in front of him.

 

"How old are you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Fifteen, Governor Worthing."

"And which House are you in at Hogwarts?"

"House Slytherin, under Professor Slughorn."

 

Hermione regarded Scorpius. He had the staight back and confidence of his Malfoy relatives, but his features were tempered by his Greengrass heritage. Where Draco was ice, Scorpius was fire. He also spoke less brashly.

 

"How would you describe your relationship with Professor Slughorn?"

"He is a mentor to me. He indulges my questions on advanced antidotes and rare plants."

"Your interests seem to be rather academic."

"Yes, Governor. I hope to be an Unspeakable one day."

 

When Hermione tore her gaze from the younger Malfoy, she found the older one staring. She met those grey eyes, and a rush of memories jolted through her. She felt her cheeks burn, and she looked away, furious. Scorpius was now being interrogated by Theodore, and her turn will come up soon. She better get things together.

 

"As someone interested in that particular career path, you are naturally inclined towards experimentation."

"Yes, Governor Nott."

 

She flashed to an afternoon spent driving white-knuckled all the way to Greenwich, to a brick house at Shooters Hill. A glance told her he was remembering the same thing, and her heart hammered against her chest when she saw him smile.

It was a flicker of one, barely lasting a second, but she saw it.

She thrilled at the thought that he meant it just for her.

 

Experimentation--her waist still knows the clasp of a corset, her hand can still feel the riding crop. She can still see him, naked from the waist up, his back bearing welts. 

And he was crying softly, pale shoulders rising and falling with his hiccups.

 

"Governor Weasley, do you have questions for Mr. Malfoy?"

"How is Draco Malfoy like as a father?"

 

Scorpius frowned. Draco is much better at hiding his emotions, she thought. This boy wears his feelings on his face, and she could read that he did not expect her question at all.

 

"He supports me well, Governor Weasley. But he doesn't give me everything I want. I'd say he is a good father, as they go."

 

Good wasn't something she would use to describe Draco, and she had to restrain herself from cocking an eyebrow at him.

 

"Supports you. Even your experiments."

"Yes he does, Governor."

"Tell this board about your latest project."

 

The boy took a deep breath, and Draco glared at her. She kept her face passive, but she knew he wanted nothing more than to ram her against a wall and punish her. Over and over.

 

"…was not meant for public use, it was meant to demonstrate time travel," Scorpius finished.

 

Whatever she thought about his father, the younger Malfoy piqued her interest. Making time turners at fifteen; his precocity reminded her of someone's.

 

"Why do you want to see how time works, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Well, would you not, Governor?"

"Yes, but what are your reasons? I was not compelled to build my own Time Turner, you see."

"Knowing that something works comforts me, but knowing how something works satisfies. It might be a burden, knowing about 'how,' but I would rather be satisfied and burdened, rather than comfortable and ignorant."

 

She smiled at him, and the boy smiled back.

 

* * *

 

 

"Thank you for that."

"It will be a shame if he was expelled. Besides, his first semester grades will take the hit."

It was almost five. On his insistence, they were having tea. She did not want to, at first; Scorpius had gone back to the manor, which meant she would be alone with him. But then he pressed on, and she relented, as always.

 

"I did not know The Palm Court had a private parlour."

"Funny what information becomes available to you with a few well-placed Galleons in the right hands."

She took an apple scone and nibbled at it, refusing to look him in the eye. Ronald thought she was working overtime, which was a dull ache buried in her chest.

 

"How long has it been, Malfoy?"

"Back to calling me that again, I see. Twelve years, hasn't it?"

"Twelve. Yes, since the last time. You haven't changed."

"Thank you. You've grown more beautiful these days."

 

She blushed furiously, and he smiled. "Wouldn't your wife be worrying after your absence?" She said.

"Astoria doesn't ask, and I don't worry her needlessly."

"That's what I am, then. A needless worry."

His eyes flashed, and his hand moved to cover hers. She tried to slip away, but he held on to it. "Hermione, listen," he said.

 

If he called her by name another time, she would be undone.

"It doesn't have to be like this. Never had to be like this."

"What, should I have accepted that slipshod proposal you made by the beach?"

 

He grinned, and she was almost lost. "It was a tiny bit sexy, you have to admit," he said. His eyes widened. "As is that," he said, as she slowly ran one foot up his leg.

She laughed. "Would you care to finish this conversation upstairs, or would you rather carry on down here?"

 

She lifted her foot to his seat, and touched his groin with her stockinged toes. He was already straining against his trousers. 

"Hermione--"

She didn't hear what he wanted to say, because she crossed the space between them, crashing her mouth on his.

This is not a good idea, she kept repeating to herself, as their kisses deepened, as they grabbed at each other's clothes, and as she felt her resolve slip away.

Not a good one at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year (in a few), everyone! There's not much in this chapter in terms of them getting together, but I hope it was enough.


	5. A Lock and a Key

_Twelve Years Ago_

She was leaning on him, in bed, when she told her, when she named the anxiety that had been stirring in her stomach. It had been coiling in her belly for days, wrenching her guts, clouding her thoughts at the most inappropriate moments.

"I may be pregnant."

His laugh rumbled against her cheek. "Good. Congratulations to Weasley then."

She sat up, aware of how Draco's eyes greedily followed the sway of her chest as she did. Hermione straddled him, and she felt his penis stiffen ever so slightly.

"Are you not at all concerned?"

He shrugged. "Sex with a knocked-up woman is great. For one, I love how enormous these get," he said, cupping her breasts and sweeping his thumbs over the nipples. She closed her eyes, enjoying his ministrations. He wasn't gentle, unlike Ron, who treated her like she was made from porcelain.

"You're enjoying yourself." She smiled.

"You don't seem to be so bored, either."

She rocked her hips back and forth slowly. He was fully erect now, and she rubbed her wetness against his shaft. He'd now moved his hands south. They were upon the curves of her waist, directing how she moved against him. His penis slid against the folds of her, bumping her clit softly.

"Draco," she murmured, eyes misty with desire. "Fuck me."

"Not today, love," he said, and she thrilled at being called love. "Let's enjoy this."

He pulled her close and met her mouth with his, prying her lips open with his tongue. He circled, and tasted, and she responded. They kept at this agonizing dance, the languid movements, until Hermione felt about ready to explode.

"Draco please--"

He needn't be told twice, flipping places with her and pinning her to the bed. He looked her in the eye as he eased into her. It felt like home, and Hermione choked back a sob. Draco locked eyes with her as he plunged over and over, one hand on her cheek, brushing gently. And then she felt him shudder, felt him empty his seed in her. It sent her over the edge, and she clung to him, whispering his name, her thighs clamped tight against his, her eyes never leaving his.

And when she went to the bathroom to cry in the shower he followed, wordlessly holding her, rubbing that spot between her shoulder blades. It was like it as always been, pleasure and guilt and secrets, all rolled into one. They had managed the tightrope for about a decade now.

Only later did everything start falling apart.

 

* * *

 

 She walked up the steps to their Mayfair address in the city. Ron would be home; George took the night shift at the joke shop during the weekends, giving her husband time to spend with Rose and her.

She patted her belly and bit her lip. She wasn't showing yet, but Hermione knew she had to speak about it soon. It would not do to have the knowledge eat her from inside--besides, it was a source of joy, all things considered. When she was pregnant with Rose, she was reportedly  _glowing_. She felt good, too, despite the morning sickness and the bloated feet.

And when she saw Rose for the first time, her world seemed to rewrite itself. She smiled at the memory and opened the front door.

"Mum! You're early!" Her daughter flung her little body at Hermione, snuggling against her. She laughed and closed the door behind her, letting the toddler lead her up to the rooms.

"Where's daddy, Rosie?"

"He downstairs, in kitchen. Mum, play with me?"

She kissed her daughter's fat cheek. "Okay, honey. But let's go down to have dinner with daddy first."

Ron had set the table for the three of them, and was chopping some carrots when Hermione and Rose walked in. Hermione walked to Ron and gave him a swift peck on the lips.

"Hey, how's work," he said, smiling. She recounted her rather uneventful day at the Ministry, leaving out the part where she gave Draco Malfoy head in a supply closet.

"Yeech, sounds dull," he said, and she nodded, biting her lip. She had to tell him, she decided. Tonight, she will. But then she glanced over at Rose, and she didn't feel so sure anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

"Are you okay, love?"

She squirmed, trying not to recoil from Ron's embrace. She let him kiss her neck and massage her shoulders. "Yes," she said, "quite all right."

 "Work getting to you, huh?"

She turned to face him. "What do you mean?" he shrugged.

"I saw it a lot when I was at Magical Law Enforcement. It's a really stressful department, Hermione. I understand."

She flushed with embarrassment. Here she was, trying to get away from her husband, when he was sympathizing with her situation.  _You are evil, Hermione Weasley. Something's wrong with you,_ she thought.

She looked into Ron's earnest blue eyes, his cheeks pulled up in a smile. She felt him cover her hand with his. Was it so bad, to be totally domestic with one of her best friends, to settle down and raise a family with Ron, who has saved her life as she has his? Who knows her, and loves everything he knows?

 _He's not Draco,_ she thought. And Ron was not the father of the baby she had in her. She knew it was Draco's, and she also knew she had to come clean to her husband.

"Ron, I--" she began, pulling her hand free from Ron's touch. He shifted his body so that he was facing her. Hermione took a deep breath and closed her eyes. But as soon as her eyelids fluttered shut, Draco's steel gray eyes appeared in front of her, and his voice groaned out single syllables of pleasure in her ear.

She gasped, opening her eyes. She will never be free from him. Ron looked concerned. "Hermione, are you okay? Should we go to St. Mungo's?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine, don't worry. I just--Ron," she said, grabbing his hand, "I need to tell you something."

Damn it, all of it. She had hidden for long enough, and she'd rather not listen to her conscience pester her about it. Not anymore. She opened her mouth to speak, but the door to their bedroom creaked open.

"Mum? Daddy? I can't sleep," Rose murmured, rubbing her eyes. Hermione stared helplessly as Ron scooped their child up, whispering lullabies in her ear. She stared at them both, at how much they seemed to make sense.

"Ron," she said, and her husband's head snapped to look at her. She was smiling, but her heart was breaking into a thousand grains of sand.

"Ron, I'm pregnant. We're having another baby."


End file.
